


mistletoe

by RorschachIris



Category: Control (Video Game)
Genre: Beer is involved, Chaos, Christmas nonsense, F/M, Fluff, Jesse decides she feels festive and makes the rest of the Bureau follow suit, Langston is the unsung hero of the AWE expansion fight me, Not Beta Read, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RorschachIris/pseuds/RorschachIris
Summary: Jesse decides that hosting a holiday party in Central Exec on a Friday evening is a great idea.
Relationships: Kevin Horowitz/OC, Simon Arish/Emily Pope
Kudos: 6





	mistletoe

The interior of the Bureau is, in some ways, entirely predictable from day to day. Sure, an Altered Item may or may not be on the loose, or a month-long lockdown might be in effect due to an invading extra-dimensional force, or the building itself might shift and swallow up people for no apparent reason. But a daily dose of reality-defying revelations is a given at the Bureau; no matter what goes on in the outside world, the people inside the Oldest House are always preoccupied with an entirely different reality.

Normally, it doesn’t bother Jesse. But as the holiday season begins to set in, and as she’s forced to walk down increasingly-festive streets on her usual route between her apartment and the Oldest House, she begins to wonder if the Bureau couldn’t use some holiday cheer.

“Emily,” she says one day while they’re having their weekly lunch, “does the Bureau do Christmas parties?”

Emily stops mid-bite and stares at her.

“Or, er, generic holiday parties?” Jesse fumbles. “End-of-the-year bashes? Anything?”

“No,” Emily says, frowning. “Why would we?”

“Why? I mean, it’s the holiday season. Aren’t corporate holiday celebrations a thing?”

“Not at the FBC,” Emily replies. “At the end of the year, we always see a slight uptick in paracriminal activity and AWE manifestations, so we normally have our hands full. Plus, with a federal agency, there’s always a bunch of year-end reports that every department has to file, annual budgets to review for the next year… The list goes on.”

“Jesus,” Jesse mumbles, poking at her pasta.

“Plus,” Emily continues matter-of-factly, “Trench wasn’t exactly a holiday-festivities, office-parties kind of guy.”

“Hmm. Good point.” Jesse points her fork at Emily. “But _I’m_ the Director now.”

“Well,” Emily says, suddenly looking wary, “you _are_ in a position to change the work culture around here, but—”

“Then it’s settled,” Jesse says, already making a list in her head. “I mean, I get that we’re busier this time of year, but people can spare a Friday evening, can’t they?”

“Er—probably, but—”

“Great. Hey, do we have a lot of vegetarians in the Bureau? Vegans?”

“HR would probably know—but, Jesse—”

“Sweet. Thanks, Emily,” Jesse says, jumping to her feet and sweeping up her plate of pasta. “You’ve been real helpful.”

Emily watches, dumbfounded and a little concerned, as Jesse jogs out of the cafeteria.

\---

For the next few days, Emily broods over the implications of her strange conversation with Jesse. Surely Jesse has lost interest in the prospect of hosting a holiday party? 

But her fears are proven to be justified on Friday morning. She’s working in a laboratory, reviewing the data amassed by her team from a recent AWE, when the Bureau-wide intercom suddenly screeches to life.

“Hi everyone! Hello! Jesse here. Your faaavorite Director.”

Everyone in the laboratory freezes.

“So I’ve heard,” Jesse continues, apparently shouting into the intercom, “that we don’t normally have holiday parties here. Well, that may have been okay with Trench and the other old farts that came before him, but I promised you all that things would be different with me in charge. So, in a way, you all should have seen this coming.” A snicker.

“Is she drunk?” Someone mutters. 

“As some of you hopefully know,” Jesse continues gleefully, “today is the last Friday before Christmas. So I’m throwing you all a party tonight, in the Executive sector. There’s going to be—hang on. Tyler, what did we order again?... Oh, right. There’s going to be beer, hamburgers, chips, cookies—and what else?... Oh, and for you vegetarians and vegans out there, there will be some vegan burger alternative thing that Tyler found. Because I looove you all.” 

There’s a muffled shuffling sound.

“What am I forgetting? I’m forgetting something. Tyler? ...Oh, right. It starts at five! Festivities start at five. In Executive. Did I mention there will be beer? ...Oh, I did. Okay, I think that’s everything. See everyone tonight!”

More shuffling, and then a muttered curse. “Where is the button for this thing—”

A crash, and then silence.

Emily puts down her clipboard and rushes out of the lab.

\---

When Emily hurries into Central Executive, she is greeted by the tallest Christmas tree she has ever seen. 

The monstrosity is shoved up against the foot of the stairs leading up to the Boardroom, and is wrapped in more strands of string lights and loaded down with more glittery decorations than Emily cares to count. She steps around the inverted pyramid hanging from the ceiling, and sees that on the tip of the tree, which towers several feet above the second floor, is perched a giant gold star.

“Jesse?” Emily calls nervously as she nears the tree. 

“Up here,” a voice responds. Emily cranes her neck and sees Jesse levitating near the top of the tree, holding a bundle of red ribbon.

“I’m almost done,” Jesse promises as she wobbles around the tree, affixing ribbon onto branches as she goes. “What do you think so far? Nice, right?”

“Uh,” Emily manages.

“And I know what you're going to say,” Jesse continues, wagging a finger at Emily with mock seriousness. “You're here to tell me that the party is a bad idea, or that you're going to be conveniently busy with work tonight.”

Emily was, in fact, going to say both of those things.

“Well, I'm making this party mandatory for all management personnel,” Jesse announces. “That includes you. Tyler's sending out the memo now. I _knew_ I was forgetting something. So I better see you tonight! Or else...or else...shit. I'll think of something.”

Emily’s mouth falls open.

“You know,” Jesse says conversationally as she tucks the last of the ribbon into the tree before dropping back to the ground, “Ahti is super excited about the party. Can you believe it? He said he’d be here at five sharp, but he has some ‘preparations’ to finish first.”

“Preparations?” Emily swallows. “What preparations?”

“I have no idea!” Jesse says happily, squeezing around the tree to get up the steps to the Boardroom. “But whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be great!”

\---

“Preparations,” apparently, meant wreaths on every door and sprigs of mistletoe appearing at suspiciously opportune moments.

When Simon knocks on the wreath-bedecked door of the office of the Chief of Security in Maintenance, Horowitz slams the door open, uncharacteristically red in the face.

“Uh,” Simon says awkwardly. “This a bad time?”

“No, it's fine,” Horowitz grumbles, stomping away from the door. Even the back of his bullish neck is flushed an angry red.

Simon closes the door behind himself and waits. Horowitz, not one to keep a lid on his emotions for long, stands in the middle of his office, clenching and unclenching his meaty hands. 

Simon starts counting.

_Three… Two…_

“It's this holiday bullshit!” Horowitz explodes, throwing his hands in the air.

“Oh, fuck,” Simon puffs in solidarity. “Don't get me started on the security nightmare this party is going to be—”

“No, it's not that,” Horowitz says, rubbing his face in exasperation. “Not just that, anyway.”

“Oh.” Simon frowns. 

“There's this...medic.”

“Uh huh?”

“In the medical wing.”

“...Right.”

“And...look, she's real cute, okay?”

_Oh._

“I don't know how Ahti could've figured it out,” Horowitz rants, gesturing desperately. “But I went down to medical to pick up some bandaids for the supply closet, and I was just, you know, trying to chat her up about the weather or some shit, and all of a sudden, this branch of fuckin’ mistletoe grows straight out the wall between us!”

“Oh Christ,” Simon snorts.

“And I turn around—stop laughing!”

“I'm trying.”

“Well—I turn around and who do I see, bookin’ it like a guilty sonuvabitch?”

Simon bursts into laughter. “You gotta admit, Ahti got you good.”

“I can't look her in the eye ever again,” Horowitz despairs. “Not after that. God _dammit,_ Ahti…”

Simon wrestles his facial muscles back under control. “Look, man, that's rough. I get it. But we need to talk about security staffing for tonight’s party.”

“Yeah,” Horowitz sighs, scrubbing at his face again, as though he’s trying to rub the red from it. “Okay. Um, I have the updated roster for Maintenance here. It's going to be rough, but I think we've got just enough volunteers to cover the most essential…”

After their meeting, Simon walks out of Horowitz’s office, his thoughts full of protocol modifications and shift changes. He thinks fleetingly of Horowitz’s story and shakes his head, smiling, before putting it out of his mind.

_Well,_ he thinks to himself. _Pretty sure that's the closest I'll be getting to holiday_ _shenanigans today._

\---

The day progresses with stories similar to Horowitz’s cropping up steadily. By noon, Emily's had to send two of her staff down to counseling, and by 3, Simon's received reports of multicolor string lights appearing mysteriously in the Panopticon, Dylan's medical wing, and, for some reason, the furnace chamber (a maintenance crew member later claims that the furnace demanded to be included in the festivities).

By the time 5pm rolls around, Emily is tense, distracted, and even more behind on her work than she’d anticipated; Simon is resignedly preparing for a night full of security protocol breaches; Langston is already in Central Exec, setting up his DJ equipment, at no one’s request; Ahti is MIA; and Horowitz is already drunk.

Jesse emerges from the Boardroom as Central Exec begins to fill up. Some people, mostly new-hires, are clutching beers and standing in clusters and looking nervously about themselves, unsure of just how loose they’re supposed to let; others, like Horowitz, are already helping themselves to the food, laughing and talking loudly and ready to have a good time.

“All right, everyone,” Jesse calls, her words slightly slurred; the room immediately quiets. “Thank you all for showing up. Uh, I just wanted to thank some people real quick: Ahti, for okaying everything; Tyler, for pulling everything together; Wells, for figuring out the lighting situation—and Langston, thanks for bringing in your, er, DJ rig. I didn’t think of that. And to all of my management team, thank you for bearing with me. It’ll be worth it, I promise!”

Jesse pauses. “All right, I think that’s everything. Was that everything, Tyler? ...Okay, I think we’re good. Let’s get this party starteeeed!”

Langston, buoyed by Jesse’s praise, punches a button on his turntable, and something that sounds like disco blares from his speakers. Wells throws a few switches; the sterile white lights flicker out, and a giant disco ball emerges from the ceiling, filling the room with spinning splotches of jarringly colorful light.

The crowd stands in shocked silence for a moment, before someone—probably Horowitz—whoops enthusiastically. And with that, the spell seems to break; most of the crowd closes in rapidly on the food and beer, chatting excitedly, while a few brave individuals push aside the instruments surrounding the control point and commence dancing.

Emily, standing on the second floor with a half-eaten cookie in hand, is shoved this way and that as people surge around her. She slams into someone and stumbles away, momentarily dazed.

“Jesus, Pope,” the person exclaims, catching her by the elbow. “You okay?” 

She looks up and sees Simon frowning concernedly at her. He’s still wearing his dark blue uniform and tie, his hair is still gelled and combed neatly into place, and he has his back pressed against the wall; aside from the beer can in his hand and the cheap Santa hat perched precariously on his head, he looks mostly detached from the party.

“Arish,” she says as he releases her elbow. “Sorry. This crowd is insane.”

“Hey, no worries.” He frowns at the crowd. “This whole thing is just...such a bad idea.”

Emily laughs. “Tell me about it. I have so much work I could be doing right now. I’m going to have to come in this weekend to get everything done.”

“Hey,” Simon replies, lifting one corner of his mouth in a tired smile, “if this party doesn’t devolve into an escaped Altered Item or OoP situation, then I’ll be satisfied.”

“Such a low bar,” Emily snorts. “Though I can’t say I blame you.”

Simon eyes the cookie in her hand. “Are you not planning on staying for long?”

Emily shakes her head. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“Ah.” Simon examines the rim of his beer can. “Pity.”

They look at each other for a moment.

“I’m going to get a burger,” Emily blurts, pointing unnecessarily at the food tables. “I’ll be right back. Do you...er, want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll—be right here.”

“Okay.” Emily nods. “Okay.”

She scurries off.

\---

By 5:30, Langston has, unsurprisingly, veered away from mainstream music, and is playing something he calls “Japanoise,” which sounds essentially like malfunctioning sound equipment. The improvised dance floor in the middle of the room has been abandoned, and people mill about, holding food and beer and shouting at each other over Langston’s music.

As a small group of people, led by the new Head of Communications (a normally-nervous young man whose name no one can ever remember), accost Langston and try to get a new cassette into the deck, Horowitz starts up a high-spirited debate with some of his friends.

“It’s— _obvious_ ,” Wells hiccups. “The prrmid’s right side up. Upside down. Right as rain.”

“You’re dumb as shhhit,” Horowitz snorts. “It’s clearly upside down. Right side up.”

Emily, halfway through her first beer, snickers.

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Simon demands, half-embarrassed, half-amused.

“Ishdat prrmid.”

“Permit?” Emily repeats, confused.

“Nono. _Pyrrr_ mid.” Rooney, normally not very talkative, waves drunkenly at the inverted pyramid hanging from the ceiling.

“What about the pyramid?” Simon asks.

“It wasn’t always like that, was it?” Rooney demands. “The—the—upside down.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s always been like that,” Emily muses. 

“It’s right side up, I tell you,” Horowitz insists. “This building is...making _fun_ of us.”

“Jesus,” Simon mutters.

“It is!” Horowitz blusters, swaying slightly in his boots. “Tha’ prrmid is right side up, I’m telling you. It’s just...tryna make us _think_ that it’s upside down. Here.”

Horowitz fumbles with a long length of chord at his belt and yanks it loose. “I’ll show you. I’m—I’m gonna lasso me a prrmid.” 

Wells laughs gleefully; Rooney frowns, as though something about Horowitz's idea doesn't make sense. Emily turns to Simon with wide eyes.

“Uh.” Simon takes a step forward. “Horowitz, that’s not—”

Simon is interrupted by a loud cry of protest from Langston, followed by a burst of Christmas-themed rock music from the speakers. The music seems to immediately rouse the crowd, and people rush back towards the dance floor, whooping. Jesse shoots up into the air, also vocalizing her approval; she’s wearing a Santa hat and a fake white beard.

Horowitz, at this point thoroughly wasted, seems to take the unexpected music as a hurrah from the universe, and plants a booted foot on the bannister of the stairs. He yells something incoherent, tosses the rope, and, without watching to make sure that it actually caught on something, throws himself over the bannister.

“Horowitz!” Simon shouts.

“Fuuuck,” Rooney murmurs.

“Look out below!” Emily yells, leaning over the bannister.

Horowitz actually manages to snag the top of the giant Christmas tree, which, combined with the fact that he manages to fall on several people rather than the bare ground, probably saves his life. The tree tilts dangerously, and a group of nearby partiers rush to right it; Horowitz, now on the ground, roars in pain and clutches at his right arm. A few people have the presence of mind to roll him onto his back and check him for injuries.

Simon rushes down the stairs, with Emily close on his heels. “Is he okay?” He demands as he pushes past onlookers.

“Yeah,” a brown-skinned woman with the biggest, brownest eyes Emily has ever seen replies, shouting over a guitar riff, as she kneels at Horowitz’s side. “I’m a medic. He’s probably sprained his arm, but he’ll live. I’ll get him down to medical.”

A man with his tie tied around his forehead offers to help the medic, and together, they struggle towards the elevator. Horowitz seems to regain awareness momentarily, and looks up at the woman half-carrying, half-dragging him with bulging eyes.

“Adami?” He says incredulously.

“Shh,” Adami soothes, and he obediently lolls his head back, smiling drunkenly.

“Woooh!” Wells shouts from the stairs, pumping a fist into the air. Rooney echoes his shout, albeit a little less enthusiastically. Horowitz raises a wobbly fist in reply, and then he’s disappearing into the sector elevator.

Ahti, who appeared at some point after the party began, is regaling a cluster of wide-eyed new hires with stories that probably make no sense; Jesse, after observing Horowitz’s nosedive, is floating around the tree and shouting random safety tips at people. The rock track has faded into a jazz-reggae rendition of “Feliz Navidad”, and a defeated-looking Langston is being pulled onto the dance floor by a group of laughing women.

Emily, realizing that she's actually enjoying herself, laughs and downs the rest of her beer; Simon, shaking his head and muttering something, grabs himself a burger. Emily snags another can as they squeeze their way back up the stairs. 

“I trust things aren't usually like this in Security?” She asks Simon teasingly as they wander into the upper wings of Central Exec, away from the pounding music and spinning lights and shouting partiers.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon mutters. “I hope I never see Horowitz drunk again.”

“Well, hey,” Emily says brightly, “at least we haven't had any Altered Item or OoP incidents yet.”

“Christ, Em,” Simon laughs. “Don't jinx it.”

“Are you the superstitious type?” She asks as she pops her beer can open.

“I mean, we work at the FBC. How can you not be superstitious?”

“I’ve actually found myself becoming less superstitious over the years,” Emily confides, taking a swig of beer between words. 

“Yeah?” Simon looks genuinely intrigued. “How’s that?”

“The longer I work here, the more things I understand. The more phenomena I'm able to explain using science. I think the best way to overcome an irrational fear of something is to study it.”

Simon looks thoughtful as he bites into his burger. “I can think of a few things that would probably become scarier as you learn about them,” he says, speaking around a mouthful of food. “Serial killers, for instance.”

“Well, luckily for you, fear of serial killers isn't entirely irrational.”

“Great.” Simon grins. “I love it when I'm right.”

Emily laughs, thoroughly charmed, and Simon seems surprised by her laughter.

“You know,” he says, “we've been working together for the last—six months?—and I know pretty much nothing about you.”

Emily snorts. “There's not a whole lot about me to know.”

“I'm sure that isn't true.”

“Go on. Ask me something, then.”

They come upon a hallway bench and sit; Simon taps the heel of his boot against the ground absently as he thinks. Emily wonders if she should be nervous. Under normal circumstances, she would definitely be nervous, but the alcohol and the earlier shenanigans and the thrill of having a non-work-related conversation with a handsome coworker seem to be dampening her nerves.

Simon looks up at her with a mischievous grin. “Are you a serial killer?”

“ _Simon_.”

“That's not an answer!”

Emily sighs, pulling a mock-serious face. “No, Simon. I'm not a serial killer.”

“Hmm. I believe you. You spend too much time here to have room for such a hobby.”

“Um, thanks.”

Simon laughs quietly, and takes another bite of burger. “Your turn. And I'll preemptively say that I'm also not a serial killer.”

“Hmm.” Emily waggles her eyebrows. “Preemptive declarations of innocence are pretty suspicious, you know.”

“Hey now, you know that I clock just as many hours here as you.”

“Well, I _have_ had a question for you on my mind. All night, in fact.”

“Really? Shoot.”

Emily gestures at his head. “What's with the Santa hat?”

“Oh,” Simon mumbles, grinning ruefully. “I was ambushed by a couple of my chiefs right before the party started. They wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed to wear it.” He makes to take it off.

“Wait,” Emily interjects, shooting out a hand. “Don’t take it off.”

He freezes. “Why not?”

She’s speaking before she’s thought her response through. “I think you look cute in it.”

They both freeze.

“Uh,” Emily squeaks, and panic-chugs her beer. “I meant—that is, I meant—that—the party isn’t over yet. So you can’t take it off yet. Right? Because—well, your chiefs would be upset—” She feels her face burning up, and chugs more beer.

Simon lowers his hand, still staring at her. Dear god, why isn’t he saying anything?

“Er, so anyway. It’s your turn? To ask a question?” She says, grinning like an idiot.

“Okay,” he says, leaning thoughtfully against the wall. “Have I ever mentioned that...I like your hair?”

“Umm. Hmm. No, I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned that,” she babbles. Her beer can is, to her chagrin, now empty.

“Well. I like your hair.” His face is steadily turning bright red; he frowns down at his burger.

Emily laughs nervously. “Thanks.”

The ensuing silence between them grows until Emily can’t bear it anymore. She jumps to her feet, an excuse to return to the party on her tongue, and bonks her head against something.

“Ow,” she mutters, ducking her head out of the way and looking up. Simon gets to his feet and looks up as well.

“Is that…?” Emily points nervously at the branch with dark green pointed leaves and clusters of red berries that has seemingly materialized from the ceiling.

“I think so,” Simon groans. “Dammit, Ahti.”

“What? You think Ahti’s behind this?”

“He did it to Horowitz earlier today.”

“Really?” Emily laughs uncomfortably. “I’ve had this happen to some of my staff today, too. But I didn’t realize…”

“Yeah.” Simon rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. He looks at her with a silent question in his eyes, and she really freaks out then.

“Uh, look, we don’t have to—to kiss,” Emily stutters, nearly crushing the empty beer can in her hand. “I mean, it’s just a silly tradition, you know.”

“Right,” Simon says. “A silly tradition.”

“I mean, who even came up with it?”

“Heh. Yeah.”

Emily remains rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from Simon’s mouth. She wants desperately to run away, but also finds herself wanting to...try something.

“But…” Simon says.

“But,” Emily echoes, “you know. It...couldn’t hurt.”

“Right,” Simon says, looking simultaneously relieved and terrified, shifting from foot to foot.

“And… It’s a tradition.”

“Right.”

“So, I mean. We _have_ to.”

“Right—wait.” Simon trips a step back. “You’re—and I don’t mean this in a bad way, but you’re drunk, and I’m not entirely sober myself, so—er—how does consent work—?”

Emily, with drunken resolve, decides that traditions and inhibitions and everything in between can just go fuck themselves. She grabs Simon by the collar of his shirt and yanks. As he stumbles forward, she meets him halfway.

The first attempt is sloppy; they mis-aim, and she bumps her mouth against his jaw. He grunts and cranes his neck back, trying for a better angle; she tries to manhandle his collar a bit more gently, and they lean in for a second try…

And the second try is perfection.

\---

A few hours later, Jesse wanders through Central Exec, where most of the remaining partiers are in a drunken- or food-induced stupor. The only other person in the room who seems mostly conscious is Langston, who’s freestyling drowsily on a homemade theremin. The disco ball stopped working about half an hour ago, and now the only source of light in the room is the soothing glow of the Christmas tree.

“Ahti?” Jesse calls, picking her way around and over people, and shuffling into the center of the room. “Anyone seen Ahti? I think he owes me twenty bucks.”

Someone by Jesse’s foot twitches, before flopping onto his stomach and army crawling slowly towards the remaining few cookies.

“Fischer,” Jesse says. “Hey, Fischer.”

The guy on the ground, who may or may not be Fischer, pauses and turns to look at her with bleary eyes.

“Have you seen Ahti?”

Maybe-Fischer shakes his head no, wincing at the movement.

“Hmm. What about Pope or Arish?”

Maybe-Fischer turns away slowly and resumes his crawl.

Jesse shrugs, then wanders across the room and up the stairs. As she nears the upper wings, she hears quiet voices down the hall, and teeters down to investigate. She rounds a corner and peers into a dimly lit office, and sees her Head of Security and Head of Research tucked away against the wall, chatting animatedly about something.

Emily’s hair is mussed and her cheeks a bright pink; Simon’s Santa hat is still on, and his shirt and tie are a bit mangled, and he's watching Emily raptly as she goes on about what sounds like the combat applications of Black Rock.

“I think you’ve sold me,” Simon says when she pauses. “You should come down to Security sometime, maybe look over our inventory and give us some suggestions. We could start with a few items. See where it goes.” 

“I'd be happy to! You know, I feel like you're the first person who's seriously considered my idea—oh, hi Jesse! Are you looking for someone?”

Emily waves happily, and Simon looks suddenly like a deer caught in headlights.

“Nah,” Jesse says, flapping a hand at the two. “I’m good. You two keep doing—whatever it is you’re doing.” She ambles off.

“Hey Ahti? You owe me twenty bucks,” she yells down the hall.

She pauses for a moment, frowning.

“Actually, Ahti, what is our policy on office dating?”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all have a great holiday season! Here's to 2021 because dear god


End file.
